


Canary

by FishLeather



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body-swap, Gen, Possession, Sci-Fi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 20:04:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11607972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishLeather/pseuds/FishLeather
Summary: A look at the canaries in an all-encompassing coalmine.





	Canary

**Author's Note:**

> Note: this is one of my earliest works, and is in DIRE need of some reworking.

She walked along the stone street, feeling as though the floridian air was hugging her skin. Short and stout, toe to toe, she walked as if wearing invisible heels. She spotted her destination, a few stragglers already relaxing on the stoop and smoking. Her... associate was among them.

"Hey, s'this the guy's house?" She asked impatiently.

One of the stoop's residents looked up with tired eyes and frowned. "You're not bein very..." He shook his head, as if to dislodge his creeping headache. " ...specific. What fucking guy?"

"Oh my god. The client, you dumbass."

"Oh." He looked down at the concrete steps. He hadn't slept in... he couldn't remember how long. He slumped his shoulders, foggy mind concluding that now was the optimal time for a nap. He swayed, starting to lean back before a hand caught his shoulder and pulled him forward and onto shaky feet.

"God. Are you drunk? High?"

He grimaced in response, not having the energy to weave his thoughts into words. He had hardly had 2 cups of punch! Either he was a lightweight , or the canary had been a necessity that they shouldn't have cheaped out on. A shame he couldn't get the digits from that cheeky flirt from the poolside. He knew that look. 

Suddenly something was in his hands, beeping. He was manhandled to have it open and pressed to his cheek. He flinched and was about to put his hands up when he heard the dial tone. Oh, a phone. It's just a phone. Not a weapon. The boss was not thrilled. They weren't surprised either. Boss agreed to hire a Canary or three soon, once some investments could be flipped for cash.

\--

Slinking through the doorway, tossing a backpack onto the floor and letting it slide to rest a few feet away, the newest Canary closed the door absentmindedly with a shoulder. The clock blinked 12:00 and "set time" at her, thanks to a blackout while she was away. She glanced at her watch while adjusting the clock to match, now displaying 4:00am. She glanced in the mirror and eyed her current host's figure. After throwing back a few cups of only /slightly/ smelly tap water, she ran a hand through her hair, getting it caught in the curls she now had.

She coughed and settled herself on the paisley sofa that looked like it had been on the set of WWE. It was hard becoming nocturnal, but it was demanded of her, under threat of.... something bad. She was too tired to remember what. She sighed and adjusted herself a few times before finally getting some sleep as the sun rose behind her tightly drawn curtains.

\--

She took a shower, reluctantly under the last available showerhead, the one that makes an irritating squeaking noise if it's spraying any temperature above arctic. She spoke a few memorized sentences to gauge her accent. 

"Walk the dog on the water." Hm. It wasn't too guttural, thankfully. "Rural horror rules regally." No stutter, good. Sounds like a native speaker.

She stepped out of the water and eyed herself in the mirror, frowning at her face before reaching the wall measuring tools. She wasn't so much 'sun kissed' as she was 'leather-faced.' She took out a notepad and recorded her current height and shoe size, among other measurements she would need. 

She matched her approximate size to a cabinet and retrieved a parcel of clothing. She returned to her quarters and got ready for the day.

Searching her host's current purse, she looked for any signs of addiction, looks clean enough. She looked both ways before deeply smelling the inside, to see if there was a hidden history of something like cigerettes. Instead she caught a whiff of what smelled like a retirement home on brunch day. Some kind of fancy but very outdated perfume, she guessed.

She donned her ID badge, really just a button with a 3 digit number on it, and went to go get her mission. Her new elderly joints soured her mood as she put on what she knew to be an utterly rediculous maroon sunhat. Reaching the office door, she hesitated before turning the knob. Her training let her pick up a few words, even through the hearing loss her host had.

"I know, I know," her boss said.  
"Well, fine."  
There was a pause.  
"Look, just deal with it, ah-kay?

The phone met the receiver as the knob finally turned.

"Well, now! Didn't expect you to be on prune duty."

\--

She was walking past the 4th straight block of tourist traps that called themselves stores when she found him. Her sandaled feet made no effort towards secrecy as she stomped up to him. He was sitting on the curb and eating an ice cream cone in some kind of karate padding as if his behaviour was completely ordinary. He looked up from his dessert to meet the scowling mug of who looked to be the president of the "mean grannies" club.

"What's the time, ma'am?" He asked.

"Noon-thirty, new guy." She said unexpectedly. "Is that the real you? This, I mean." She said, looking his body over. It was... average. Nothing really stood out. He had a mop of brown hair, and some acne on his face. A little pudge, but that was common in these parts.

"They told me not to answer that." He said, quickly taking a bite from his ice cream before it could melt onto his new armor. "Not that I even know what you mean. Can't spill what I don't know, right?"

She waved her hand, partly to fan herself, and partly to visibly brush him off. "You know, you probably should have left the gear in your locker."

His face betrayed that he hadn't thought of that. "Yeah, w-well I might as well get used to, uh, wearing it, right? How long have you been, working for them?" He asked quickly, after finishing the last of his soggy cone.

"Sonny I might regret this, but here's a hint. I'm 19 years old."


End file.
